


Start with the Heart

by booktick



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/F, M/M, Multi, Other, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9840098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booktick/pseuds/booktick
Summary: "Remarkable boy. I do admire your courage. I think I'll eat your heart." Post-S3 Finale/AU.





	

Disclaimer: I own none of the Hannibal franchise.

A/N: This does start out with pre-S3 Finale, and there may be the occasional flashback. Just a quick warning to you all out there. Also, in this chapter, time does get a bit...blurred. We move from one place to another, so I hope you are able to keep up with where things are taking place. I will add tags as the story progresses, to keep up with what might be triggering or unpleasant, etc. Thank you for reading.

* * *

When a final crackle and pop from the sky had faded, the sunlight had glistened through the rain beaten windshield, heated the battered leather and flushed flesh of the twosome. The automobile carried on down its route with pint-sized qualms, its’ wheels scraped along the stonewashed asphalt—all had been pacified. The extended motorway had remained bare from pedestrians hitchhiking and lacked any automobiles but their own. The amity had settled unnervingly inside the automobile as it sped along. The driver said none, the passenger none—words had not been exchanged for some time.

The passenger turned their head, to look out at the blurred greens and greys. His eyelids were drooped, eyes glazed from exhaustion. Tangled fingers gripped at the scratched fabric of his pants, could feel the bone of his knee through it. He reached with a free hand to move his hair away but his messy locks of brown in his eyes, wet from sweat, brushed along his freckled cheeks once more. He shut his eyes and inhaled deep, his chest felt constricted. He could have torn away the buttons and let them fling helplessly along the dashboard.

“You never answered.” The driver said.

His eyes opened.

“What are you talking about, Hannibal?” Will’s voice had been hushed, soft to the ears.

“I asked you: ‘Going my way?’. You never answered.” Hannibal kept his grip on the wheel well, his fingers spaced evenly.

Will turned his head to stare at his driver, his eyes fixed into Hannibal’s risen cheeks and plucked smile. He blinked and turned his head away, stared at the dashboard instead. The dashboard had faded spots of red. He lifted his head. Will began to think of the events prior and what lay ahead.

‘Hannibal has condemned our souls to the Dragon.’

Carpe diem his ass.

Jack Crawford would have said Hannibal Lecter had no soul. Jack Crawford would have been too busy laying his fist into Hannibal Lecter's face to say as such. Jack would have body slammed Dr. Lecter into an expensive, albeit rare, wine rack in retaliation for the previous years' altercation--and to just piss the man off.

But Jack Crawford was far from them both. Far from their destination and their, most likely, impending altercation of their own. Jack would not be there to pull him up out of depths of Hannibal Lecter, not this time. Will wasn't so sure if he would have let him anyway. Yet there he was, Will Graham, trapped in a metal box that was on the speed limit of at least seventy by then. The highway continued to glow red.

This man, this carnivorous creature of night drove the police car as if they were off to their home on the cliff side, ready for ending a successful day of tasks. Hannibal was his personal escort, his escort who had climbed out so easily out of a flipped van only earlier that morning. He could have drowned and been happier doing so than to sit in an automobile that’s course was to take them to the Dragon who sought to devour them both.

“I never answered because it didn’t need an answer. There was no requirement needed to express my intentions.” Will looked at him, “I am strapped in, aren’t I?”

“You’re so often bothered, Will.” Hannibal glanced at him, smile frozen on his lips, “You clip your words when you’re bothered.”

Will inhaled another dragged breath in advance before he dropped his shoulders, an abrupt weight pressed into the muscle and bone like Jack’s fingertips. Hot breath glided along on his throat, sliding between his layers of flesh and settled down between the bones to his rib cage. Hannibal had not turned to him and his own breath fell back onto his cheeks. Will bowed his head, fingers that had pressed into his shoulders now pushed against the back of his skull. His body still faced Hannibal, stiff and unresponsive until the police car would hit a piece of gravel from the road. It was his seat belt that had gripped urgently at his chest with any movement from him in those moments.

“Will, we have a long journey ahead of us,” Hannibal turned his head to look at his passenger “I had hoped we could continue it as civilized individuals. With the utmost respect and sincerity, I am interested in what you think. Will.”

“You’re doing that thing again.” Will groaned, forced himself to sit up more and turn from Hannibal.

Hannibal had already turned his head away, eyes back on the road.

“You’ve said my name twice. To sedate my unease, for whatever reason,” Will rubbed his palms against his eyes, “It isn’t working. We are not friends, Hannibal.”

“If that is what you believe, Will.” Hannibal did not smile.

Will saw another faint tug at the corner of Hannibal’s cheek, tugs that threatened to expose themselves each time Hannibal spoke. He hoped the man would refrain from further conversation; words exchanged only had the tension thicken inside the compacted front seat. He turned his head again, eyes swept over the backseat of the police car. The leather seats remained bare, seat belts undone and a window that served the purpose of reminding Will of what was behind them. Him and Hannibal…alone in a police car and headed for a Dragon, even Freddie would have had a kick of it. Freddie would have gotten front page if she had a photo angled on them in their final moment.

Will imagined what the blinding; capitalized front page would say ‘Dragon Bags Duo for Lunch’.

“What are you thinking of?” Hannibal questioned, “Perhaps Alana? Jack?”

Silence was Hannibal’s answer. Though Will resisted the urge to groan; his fingers gripped the seat belt across his chest and pulled it down more. He did not look at Hannibal though he felt that tug at the corner of the man’s lips again. It was a tug inside his skull, an urge to look and to observe. He did not; he remained with his stare out at whatever was ahead of them through the windshield. The identical pattern of grass swayed on the sides of the road, familiar yellow lines blurred together as they carried on through their journey. The names had stirred the muscles inside of Will. His stomach tightened and his chest worsened, his lungs restricted which proved each breath to become harder for him. Will did not want Hannibal to see him choke for air, not to give the man the satisfaction to come to his aid and assist him any further. Somehow, amazingly, he forced his anxiety down, swallowed and felt heavily, agonizingly in the pit of his gut.

“You should rest, Will. You have had a long day.” Hannibal said.

Rest, the man had advised. The suggestion left the gift of unease between his ribs and slid down through his belly to the caps of his knees. What was rest with Hannibal Lecter, he did not want to know the answer to that question. He leaned back into the leather seat, it cringed under the shift in weight and his seat belt tugged helplessly at his chest to restrict his movements.

Will inhaled deeply before he shut his eyes, eyebrows drawn together and lips too weak to frown at his predicament. The world fell into darkness, it let him breathe again, but not for long. The world he knew woke him, not in the police car and not with Hannibal at his hip. The world had grown belly full of contempt. Will was mounted in the air, raised to be in the focal point of the brightest of lights, darkness surrounded him. He lifted his head, to try and see further, however, could not. It was light and darkness, in addition—him. These were the trio of bitter bareness. It was the light that spread and it had milked away the shadows’ claws at his feet, the shadows that threatened to drag him under into their marine of bereavement.

He curled his fingertips, tried his best to shift his hips. The light turned, changed into a cruel heat. It was sweat that dragged down his cheeks and lips as claws of deceit. His mouth opened to speak and his breath caught in the middle of his throat. He could see the light sway in the sky, a silent taunt from those above—whether it was the devil or Hannibal, Will could not say. The light struck down to shine solely on Will Graham’s face. The heat dragged over his forehead, unseen fingertips caressed his flesh.

The heat reached his throat and the light fell from his face to grab a hold. His throat tightened further, crushed by the heat from above. His eyes widened, he could see only the light that buried deep into his throat. The flesh began to tear, red puddled where he could not see but could hear. Soft drops from the red trail down his throat and chest. He tried to move again, hips shifted and his legs were capable of movement.

“Ggg--” it wasn’t a word, it wasn’t even an acknowledgment of the light and night—it was the process of alteration.

The darkness beneath him grew thicker, brushed along his feet once more. He could not pull away, he could not kick it away. Will blinked faster, each thought in his head bled into the next. His eyes looked at his stomach, and there was the darkness that surrounded him spreading apart flesh, it parted muscle far too easily. Hannibal would have been impressed. Hannibal would have relished in the sight.

Red gushed down his thighs, wrapped around his legs and fell off his toes. His eyes watched the red the oozed, he watched the darkness rearrange him from the inside and he could not stop the tragedy from unfolding—the die had been cast years ago. Will gurgled lower in his chest with what energy he could muster at the moment. He could feel the tug of the world as it reached in between his ribs, the darkness held his liver in its’ hands. The fingers occasionally brushed along in a petting motion. His eyes looked at the light instead.

Will remained mounted in the air with his legs that kicked. The unseen hooks he remained attached to tugged at the flesh of his back and arms. He could hear the tear of flesh, the popped muscles and the unforgiving way the hooks drove into his shoulder blades, sawed into the bare bone before it. Will cried out, no sound left his lips but a thick, unpleasant gurgle. The claws that had touched his feet grabbed at his thighs and his ankles, an attempt to have him as theirs. Will cried again and again, no sound reached the light and the heat dried his tears. The darkness had no name and he feared it anyway. It grabbed his ankles tight, wrapped around as the heat choked the life away from him.

He thought of Hannibal, of what Hannibal would do—would Hannibal fear for him? Would Hannibal be disappointed? Perhaps dissatisfied would be more appropriate. He could have thought of a thousand different scenarios and all would end with the tragedy of him consumed by Hannibal’s rapture. Hannibal with his hands spread over his ankles and locked onto his calves to drag him into the marine of the abyss, to drown from its’ choke, its’ hold. Will’s legs sink into the thickened darkness, they slid into the black with a slow ease. Will could not budge an inch, not even his fingers could shift as he remained mounted in the air, abyss risen upon his knees.

He blinked faster, desperate for any change of redemption, of escape and of chance. None came as the darkness rose into a monstrous shape. There were the familiar claws that had grabbed at his legs, and black antlers that dripped of the night’s trail as raindrops.

The creature of the darkness reached out, with open arms, to embrace Will. He choked on each breath faster as the previous as the creature approached him. There was an unease that settled between Will’s ribs, brushed occasionally against his heart that hammered away. It had an odd tickle slide along inside Will, the hair stood up on his neck. The chill of the night made the feeling grow and knot at different points of his body, it created small weights all throughout. He tried to lift his tongue and found he could not. His toes remained stiff and unresponsive even with his mind that screamed. His soul was trapped in this struggle. The abyss grew higher and it did not change the creature’s pace, still the same movement, slow and careful.

It was his eyes that remained open and bare. The creature, he remembered, had come from the night. It had thick black antlers, dripped shadows onto the marine of darkness. The Stag lifted its' head more, smoke poured from its' snout. It huffed at him as it neared. Will parted his lips as much as he could bare to. The noise that came from him were not words or screams, instead strangled and severely cracked. He choked on his tears, which pulled up further and further in his throat until it spilled out a thick tar to trail down his bare throat. The thick tar fell to the darken ground with thick slaps. The water slapped his face. His eyes flash opened, awake and freshly stung by salt. He gulped the waves and his throat burned for it. His lungs failed to recognize the water as anything but a threat as vile rose in his throat. He gasped for air as his head lifted above once again. His arms spread out as he tried to balance. He hissed as he did this, red pooling around his left arm in the water. The dream blurred in his thoughts, whether this was life or dream--Will hadn't a clue.

He reached out with what he deemed his good arm, as red and swollen as it was. His fingers flexed as much as they could, and, at first caught only air, next the fog. Fog, there was Fog. Will started to drift lower in the water before he forced himself back up into place. His eyelashes fluttered, blinking faster than his heart. He looked around again, for anything familiar or safe. There was the occasional floating of seaweed and fish that scurried on by, but nothing of any real value.

The fog had hidden everything, hidden the world from them both. Will could not seize it in his grasp as he had the wine bottle’s throat. Wine…they had had wine. He remembered wine…but…no. Fog, there was fog that clothed his stare when he looked around for another time. The fog had formed after they had hit the water, it must have. The air was thick with it, blanketing everything above the water and under the moon except for them. The lonely exception of the night, the cannibalized two.  And what a duo they had made, to end up in the middle of a vast body of water without any form of protection--from the night and themselves.

He wheezed as pain fired through his bones. His eyes went back to his left arm, the fabric of his shirt was torn though he couldn't tell if this was his blood or...well. That would be a relief considering all he'd gone through in the night. There could have been Hannibal's teeth sunk deep into his arm, ready to lick the bone clean, if he had let him or not. To say he counted the stars out of luck was an understatement. His stare fixed on the blaring moon and his stomach ached, though only for a moment before he turned his head left then right, for any sign of the stag. It was not the stag that floated near him. He had to swim slower as his left arm cramped at each movement of it.

"Han-" he grabbed the side of Hannibal's shirt, the fabric tore easily.

The car had halted to a stop. Clothes given and changed, a smile is the reward and a compliment is received. Glasses filled, red filled. Drinking but not drinking, a loud bang and glass shattered. A blade dragged, a howl cries and a chunk of meat flies. His mind scattered in his thoughts, an attempt to gain some form of remembrance. He had been in the car, buckled and warm only a moment ago, earfuls of soft radio in his drums. He had been somewhere else. He could not remember. He did not want to pull the strings out from those memories, not in the freezing water with Hannibal Lecter’s teeth so close to his flesh.

He was not sure if he would seek out the answers later, if he wanted. Hannibal would not doubt go into great detail…if Hannibal ever woke up after this. Will himself was unsure if he were awake from this or not? The dream had felt real, the Stag’s hot breath had stained his throat raw. Hannibal’s breath stained his depth. The scraped-out protests and complaints that came from his throat afterwards had been discarded neatly into initialed handkerchiefs by Dr. Lecter himself. The claim had not been outright at first, nor physical at first—but the claim had been there. Jack had avoided it, had danced around it and even attempted to drown it out. And yet, there was Will with his arm around the good doctor in the middle of the uneven waves.

The water splashed as he pulled his hands back for a moment. He panted from the movements, each action had been harder than the next. His breathing grew to be a challenge after each. This was not how it should have been, not like this, not as they were. They should have never been at the Cliffside, there never should have been the Dragon to crawl inside their fingernails and ribcages.

Will could have listened to Jack, left with Molly, left and left and left. Hannibal…what would have become of Hannibal was what plagued his veins. Molly would not have been able to sew them back together again. Not even Jack Crawford’s boom of demands would trigger him back into his place. He would not hide behind his badge in front of Hannibal. The doctor would not permit such rudeness. And it was rudeness, to feign ignorance of what was no longer unknown. The pretender could never bow as low as the flock because the wolf would see it for what it was.

The water slapped his cheeks for another time.

“Hannibal, you have to wake up.” He could not carry the man through the water much longer.

The weight of the doctor thickened as they shifted through the rolling waves. Each time a roll of water came through, it had the knot in Will’s belly grow. He could have been weight down by it, dragged to the bottom of the water along with the doctor in his arms, former doctor anyway. One does not let a cannibal keep his doctorate, at least, legally. That didn’t matter now, the water did not care if there was a doctor in its’ midst, or a dog obtainer, nothing but the storm inside it mattered.

"Come on-" Will panted, adjusted Hannibal in his grasp yet again "Hannibal-"

Will grabbed one of the doctor's wrists. He pulled the arm over his shoulder before he grabbed the other wrist. His eyes settled on the wet red of Hannibal's knuckles, red that stained the flesh such a deep red it could have been mistaken as black. Will choked down the bile in his throat before he pulled the man close to as much as he could. Hannibal made barely a sound at that.

They must have hit rock at some point. It could have been right away, dragging along the cliff, hitting the waves as they clashed. It happened though, that much he could tell from the slashes at Hannibal's knuckles. He panted harder against Hannibal’s jaw, his own breath heated his own cheeks from how hard it hit the doctor's. He turned his head up, throat bare as Hannibal's head lulled. The doctor's nose and mouth pressed firmly against Will's bruised throat. Will swallowed hard, some of the salt still there to remind him of where he stood. His eyes saw nothing but night at first. The way blue slapped blue against the moonlight until a patch of fuzz started to rise from behind the fog. The fuzz faded into green and a light that glided along the water. He pulled them both through the water carefully, arms slid around Hannibal’s waist even with the spiteful hate of his wounds and bones.

"There's a light, Hannibal." his lips smeared against Hannibal's ear, "I can't hold onto you forever."

The light grew brighter as they moved through the waters. Will raised his head for another time, Hannibal’s lips at his collar bone. He yanked the man back up as much as he could to keep Hannibal from going under. He kept his eyes on the light and as they brushed the first slippery set of rocks, he could see it for what it truly was. The two of them were halfway on the silver moss covered rocks after a struggled couple of moments that passes. Will pulled himself up to be halfway on top of Hannibal after another moment. His hands gripped the man's legs and pulled them up. Both now securely on the rocks for the time being. The waves clashed up against the sides of the rocks, sputtered a protest at his already soaked back. He bowed his head, his eyes shut but that stung too. He opened his eyes slower this time before he lifted his head back up into the piercing light above them both.

A lighthouse.


End file.
